Favourite Mug
by Ithinkyoullknxw
Summary: He didn't have a favourite mug before but he does now.


There's something about her that draws him to her and he's not sure he could describe it even if he tried. He doesn't understand it himself. Sometimes he wonders if her past lovers had seen in her what he sees but he decides that maybe the reason they had all left her was because they hadn't looked hard enough.

There's something about Carla that makes Nick like a moth to a flame. Something that gives him the need to drop her name into every conversation because she is always just on the very tip of his tongue.

Many times Nick has already tried to desipher what it is about his girlfriend that is so alluring and the only thing he has come to decide on is that she has been hurt. But she has used the hurt to became something so beautiful, it's a pleasure to see, he thinks. She has faced a past laced with loss, defeat, struggle. Filled with being a victim and pain like no one should ever experience. But he watches her talking to people around her and sees hints of things others would barely know. He sees empathy and a tenderness he can't quite explain. Where others might see only the harsh side she is known to portray he sees gentleness and a heart that would do anything to stop others hurting before herself. She has taught him that beautiful people don't just happen, they are moulded and formed and created from their pains and their losses and only the ones that rise above that could ever hope to be like her.

He is missing her. He hasn't seen her since the night before and for the first time since they started their turbulent relationship neither of them had had chance to escape life and see each other for a brief few moments of sanity. He doesn't know as he heads home from the Bistro that she was feeling exactly the same. He doesn't realise she has used the key to his home he gave her, relishing in how the metal object felt so right in her belonging as she opened his flat and slipped in as though she were meant to be there. As though she belonged.

He isn't expecting her to have kicked her shoes off by the sofa and flung her coat over a chair despite already knowing he will retrieve it and place it in its rightful home on his coat stand whilst throwing her a pretend stern look she just can't resit.

Carla is sipping a now lukewarm coffee, the light in Nick's living room dimmed and the tv quietly humming away as she relaxes contently, waiting for the happiness she knows he will bring upon his return and he surely does.

"You're home." She grins up at him but her voice is quiet and relaxed and her eyes flutter closed as he walks over and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I wasn't expecting to see you tonight?" He is smiling though and his eyes tell her he is glad he is. He slips out of his jacket and along with Carla's coat he hangs it on the stand, tutting playfully as he does.

Carla moves her legs, letting him sit beside her before pulling them up again and resting them over Nick, her back against the arm of his sofa. She shrugs with a smile as he rubs them absent-mindedly and sips her coffee, holding the mug between her two hands, "I can have drinks with Chelle any night."

He nods, "But you can see me any night." Her lips meet the plain white coffee mug again and he can't seem to drag his eyes away.

"I know, but I wanted to see you tonight."

He smiles and nods because that is enough.

Nick watches the way her lips curve to sip her drink and swallows back as discretely as he can. He knows she loves power and to know how easily she controls him would not be good for his reputation. Though it surely would for hers.

"That's my favourite mug." He doesn't know why he says it but there is something about the way it looks against her lips that makes him think he needs to.

She laughs softly into the night at the randomness of his statement and the darkness of the room hides his blushing cheeks. "Really Nick? This old thing? I thought you'd have better taste than that." She's smirking now and he is smiling in response, "It's getting better with age I think." He doesn't hear her heart skip a beat.

"Come on then Nicky, why this old thing?" She's tapping the mug softly before she sips from it again and Nick has to stop words from spilling from his mouth that would only end in embarrassment. And not hers.

He shrugs and uses a tactic he is slowly learning from her, "Are we still talking about the mug?"

He regrets that as she uses her position draped across his lap and kicks him playfully in response, resulting in a groan that quickly turns into a laugh. He doesn't tell her that he has never had a favourite mug before. In fact, he's never really had a favourite anything. But he does now. Now he has a favourite mug because he loves the way she sips from it. He has a favourite t shirt that is the one she wears most mornings she spends at his because the way it clings to her is the way she clings to him. He has a favourite program on TV because despite the fact he despises the show he finds he adores the soft giggles she would often emit while forcing him to watch it on repeat. He even has a favourite day of the week because Fridays have become the night they'll turn off their phones and spend hours in each other's company with just the buzz of her ipod and a bottle of wine between them. But he doesn't tell her that.

Instead he smiles, his eyes on the mug, "No reason."

She rolls her eyes playfully and his own eyes aren't on the mug anymore as she places it down and crawls along the sofa and onto his lap, "I hope if somebody asks why I'm your favourite you can come up with a better answer than that Nicholas." She fiddles with his tie as she grins, using both her hands to undo it and pull it from his neck as his hands find her waist.

Nick watches as she does something that is slowly becoming a habit and he hopes it's one he never has to give up. Her hands deftly make their way down the buttons of his shirt until it is hanging open and she can rest her head against his chest which she does with a mumble. They both enjoy the way she rests her head against his bare chest and her hand traces patterns against his skin contently. He doesn't respond but he knows he doesn't have to. The way he holds her shows her there isn't a way he could ever describe exactly why she was his favourite but sometimes, actions are enough.

* * *

Nick had been quite sad the next morning when his niece had sent his new favourite mug tumbling to the floor and it fell at Carla's bare feet. He had moved her away quickly, as though she might break if she were ever hurt again and for some daft reason the thought of that mug doesn't leave him for most of the day.

That was until Carla glided into his work a little after lunch in her killer high heels and tight jeans and placed a bag down on the bar in front of him. "What's this?" He questions with an air of confusion, only making her grin more as she pushed the bag to him and indicated for him to open it.

Which he does and he wants to laugh as he pulls out a new white mug that looks just like his had looked before it was smashed but he wants to cry to because the meaning behind the gesture makes his heart bleed with love for her.

"Your favourite mug." The pride in her smile makes him want to hold her and never let her go and he promises himself he will never tell her that his mug was only his favourite because she was drinking from it. That any mug could have been his favourite if she were to have been drinking from it.

He's smiling back and making his way round to her side of the bar where she quickly finds his jacket and holds onto it, pulling him closer, "And why is that my favourite mug?" He grins at their previous conversation and she smirks wickedly, "Because your favourite person bought it for you."

She's kissing him and he's kissing her like neither of them have a care in the world.

He didn't have a favourite mug before but he does now.


End file.
